In His own words we Christ adore,
  But angels, as we speak,
Higher above our meaning soar
  Than we o'er children weak:

And yet His words mean more than they,
  And yet He owns their praise:
Why should we think, He turns away
  From infants' simple lays?

The shadow of th' Almighty's cloud
  Calm on this tents of Israel lay,
While drooping paused twelve banners proud,
  Till He arise and lead this way.

Then to the desert breeze unrolled,
  Cheerly the waving pennons fly,
Lion or eagle—each bright fold
  A lodestar to a warrior's eye.

So should Thy champions, ere this strife
  By holy hands o'ershadowed kneel,
So, fearless for their charmed life,
  Bear, to this end, Thy Spirit's seal.

Steady and pure as stars that beam
  In middle heaven, all mist above,
Seen deepest in this frozen stream:-
  Such is their high courageous love.

And soft as pure, and warm as bright,
  They brood upon life's peaceful hour,
As if the Dove that guides their flight
  Shook from her plumes a downy shower.

Spirit of might and sweetness too!
  Now leading on the wars of God,
Now to green isles of shade and dew
  Turning the waste Thy people trod;

Draw, Holy Ghost, Thy seven-fold veil
  Between us and the fires of youth;